


Lazarus

by officialsarahjay



Series: Life on Mars [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Depictions of Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Multi, Other, Self-Harm, Suicide, Unconventional Relationship, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29803992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialsarahjay/pseuds/officialsarahjay
Summary: My project from NaNoWriMo 2020. Editing in progress; chapters are going to be posted slowly but regularly. A slice of life story that follows the Hargreeves as teenagers over the span of four or so weeks, published in two parts.This fic does lean heavily on an unconventional pairing. If that's not your cup of tea, you may not enjoy the story.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves
Series: Life on Mars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190732
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, look at those cavemen go  
> It's the freakiest show
> 
> \--David Bowie, Life on Mars

**Reginald**

**March 2003**

Number Four was unmistakably dead.

Reginald found him sprawled on the tile, his head turned slightly and his unfocused eyes fixed in an unsettling gaze, with one leg bent back at an impossible angle. Outside of that, the body appeared to be free from any visible trauma. Reginald knelt down and felt for the boy’s pulse – nothing. He reached behind his neck and felt the vertebrae – there were no fractures, the neck was intact. In fact, a brief visual and physical examination yielded nothing that could contribute to an immediate cause of death save for the broken leg, and Reginald had reason to believe the injury had nothing to do with the immediate cause of death in the first damn place.

“Hm,” he hummed. “Curious.”

An autopsy would have to answer the question of what truly killed Number Four. He supposed he had time that afternoon to personally conduct it, taking thorough notes of course to add to the child’s file before locking it closed. Then, he had the uncomfortable responsibility of announcing the news to the other children: they had lost another sibling but not to the stream of time, no. There was no possibility of coming back for Number Four. Finally, Reginald would allow the children ample time to grieve – a week should suffice – and afterwards it would be back to normal for the Hargreeves family.

He had hated nothing more than listening to the sounds of the children’s grief when Number Five first went missing, and he certainly wasn’t relishing the prospect of having to experience it a second time. He sighed and rose to a full stand.

“A shame,” Reginald said aloud, seeing as no one was in the room aside from himself and the cooling body of Number Four. “So much potential, wasted.”

Truly a tragic accident, but it would take more than one disappearance and one death to relieve the children from their destiny, Reginald thought.

It was then that Number Four’s left pinkie began to twitch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you knew my story word for word  
> Had all of my history  
> Would you go along with someone like me?
> 
> \- Peter, Bjorn and John, Young Folks

**Klaus**

**August 13, 2004**

At six AM the alarm kicked on, its digital screeching shredding through an otherwise dead sleep.

“Oh fuck me, fuck me, no,” Klaus groaned as he rolled onto his side. He reached over and pulled the alarm from off of its spot on the nightstand, so that he could reacquaint it with the wall. After, he rubbed his face with his now free hand and bopped his bed mate on the head. “C’mon, get up.”

Curled around him and sucking his thumb was Ben, who only slept with Klaus when he had nightmares, so...nightly. And Ben’s nightmares? Ben’s nightmares were worse than Klaus’s. See, in Klaus’s nightmares, Klaus only saw dead people. But in Ben’s nightmares, Ben saw the faces of the men that he had _killed_. So of course Klaus allowed Ben to sleep with him!

“Mm,” Ben moaned.

“Up.”

“No.”

“UP.”

Ben pulled his thumb out of his mouth and stared at Klaus through half-shut eyes.

“Something’s up, but it’s not me,” he teased.

“Oh my God, Ben.”

“I’m talking about –”

“Go, Ben!” Klaus demanded, slapping Ben’s shoulder. “I’m revoking your privileges!”

Ben smiled and stuck his tongue out.

“You’ll give them back after breakfast, just you wait,” he taunted, before rolling out of Klaus’s bed and making a mad dash down the hall and back toward his room, where he _probably_ should have been all along, but not with the nightmares he was having, oh no. Then what kind of a brother would Klaus be? Not a very good one!

It was only once he was certain that he was alone that Klaus took a peek under the sheets to fix his attention to the massive erection he was sporting, the very one Ben had so rudely acknowledged before so rudely bailing. And rather than let something so magnificent go to waste, he allowed his mind to wander until it settled on Ashton Kutcher and what his ass simply _had_ to look like under the fashionably distressed denim he wore.

He eagerly walked his fingers south, past the band of his tighty whities, and sighed.

Disco!

After he had well and truly earned his morning shower, Klaus stumbled out of bed on shaky legs and headed toward the bathroom, pounding a flat palm on the door and demanding that Ben let him in.

“C’mon I know you’re in there!” Klaus shouted.

“Chill out!” followed Ben’s response.

“Please?”

The door unlocked with a small ‘click’ and Klaus forced his way in, pushing the door shut and locking it for good measure once inside.

“What took you so long?” Ben teased after he had scrambled back inside the shower.

“Had to pray,” Klaus said dismissively to his reflection in the foggy mirror. He rubbed his cheeks and groaned; the injustice of having a fucking BILLIONAIRE for a father who refused to spring for Klaus’s laser hair removal was simply too much to endure! "Hurry up and let me in, I gotta shave."

“Waxing is cheaper, and lasts longer,” Ben pointed out.

“Waxing requires at least a fourth inch of growth, and if I allow that to happen I’ll literally kill myself.”

“I don’t recommend that,” Ben said amiably. “Want me to keep the water running for you?”

“Sure,” Klaus grumbled.

Puberty had hit him first, and it had hit him hard. Practically overnight he found himself inhabiting an alien body, and he had never felt more raw or more uncomfortable. He still wasn’t entirely sure if he was even a boy when the decision was made for him: his body turned on him, confining him to a gender that didn’t fit.

To call it a crisis would have been an understatement!

So when his brothers began hitting puberty and thus began racing each other to grow the best porn star mustache, Klaus instead attempted to take back control by shaving, pulling, and obsessing over every inch of hair on his body. If it wasn’t on his head, it had to _go_. It was tedious and it was exhausting, but when Klaus stepped out of the shower and threw on a little Bath and Body Works Sweet Pea body lotion, he was able to feel marginally better about himself even if it were just for a moment.

Just then Ben hopped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, tying it around his waist before leaning against Klaus, his chin propped on his shoulder.

“I think you’re okay just the way you are,” he said sweetly. And as he did, he pushed himself up onto his tippy toes and pressed a teeny tiny kiss to the spot of skin right under Klaus’s ear before shooting out of the bathroom in a blur of pink and white.

Forty minutes later and Klaus was standing in front of his full-length mirror in his bedroom as his clumsy fingers fumbled with his tie. Fifteen years old and he still couldn’t tie a tie! He nervously glanced back at the digital clock now lying upside-down by the molding; he had two minutes until breakfast.

“FUCK!” he shouted.

He contemplated whipping the tie to the floor and taking his verbal lashing like an adult (considering that dear old Dad had to recently remind the children – primarily Klaus – that missing even one piece of one’s uniform was an affront to all that was good and decent) when he saw Ben making a mad sprint past his door in his peripheral. His eyes lit up.

“Ben!” he exclaimed.

“Late!” Ben huffed.

“My tie!”

With a short, loud sigh Ben scurried into Klaus’s room, and with the same frantic energy Ben quickly tied a perfect Windsor knot.

“Late,” he repeated.

“I know,” Klaus whined. He scrambled toward his nightstand and snapped up his lighter, fumbling as he attempted to slide it into his breast pocket next to a fresh pack of cigarettes.

“Dude!” Ben yelped suddenly.

“What?”

“You did something to the lighter!”

“Yeah, I picked it up.”

“No, no, it...” And Ben gesticulated wildly at the nightstand, his fingers spread. “I saw it, it _flew_ into your hand!”

“Don’t talk like that, it freaks me out,” Klaus said dismissively with a shake of his head. “C’mon, you said it yourself, Dad gets stupid when we’re late.”

The pair quickly tore out of the bedroom and flew down the hall, down the steps, and skittered to a stop when they finally entered the dining room. It was 7:02, and breakfast was well and truly underway.

“You’re both late,” Reginald Hargreeves grumbled from behind the morning’s newspaper, as though neither of the brothers would have come to such a realization without his input.

“Duh,” Klaus intoned, as he pulled his chair back and away from the table in such a way that the legs deliberately scraped and bounced over the flooring.

“One hour,” Reginald snapped, and Klaus bit his lip in a physical attempt to refrain from speaking. He wasn’t going to risk having another hour – or more – added to the clock.

Without acknowledging the plate of bacon and eggs slowly congealing before him, Klaus propped his elbows on the table (elbows off of the table, Number Four! Reginald barked from across the table), planted his chin in his palms, and stared through a postcard-sized photograph framed on the wall across from him.

For a moment, he closed his eyes. Then there came a small _whp_ , followed shortly by the unmistakable tinkle of glass shattering. Klaus opened his eyes. The photograph was gone.

Klaus pursed his lips and hummed.

And across the table, Luther fixed his intense eyes on Klaus, staring at him with mild curiosity before blinking once, then twice, and then returning his attention to his own overfilled plate.

Reginald gently jostled the newspaper before folding it.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Oh, a breeze must have knocked this off the wall,” Grace responded cheerfully, as she bent to pick the pieces of frame from off of the floor. “Would you like me to close the window, dear?”

Reginald waved his approval and rose from his seat.

“You may be excused from the table,” he said over the six teenagers sitting before him, his tone clipped.

*

Klaus drummed his pencil against the mangled spiral of his notebook. He had already read Homer’s Iliad _and_ Odyssey for funsies two summers ago; he didn’t see why he needed to revisit it in English. And besides, once the clock struck noon, summer break would officially begin for the Hargreeves household.

While most of America’s schoolchildren enjoyed anywhere between eight and twelve weeks of summer vacation annually, the Hargreeves saw a meager two weeks. Miserly, but eagerly anticipated none-the-less because for two weeks the children were free to do whatever they wanted, within reason. They were still expected to keep to their schedules – up at 6, breakfast by 7 – and they were still expected to complete their chores, but there was no classwork, no training, and no uniforms during summer break.

Klaus sighed. He was only thirty-six minutes and three essay questions away from a cigarette and the official start of his summer. His right hand reflexively reached for the pack of smokes he kept in his front breast pocket; his shoulders relaxed when he was greeted by its bulk.

He no longer hid it from the rest of the family; it was – pun intended – a dirty secret that hung out in the open. No one would talk about it so long as Klaus kept it outside; well, no one except Pogo. And Pogo’s heart was in the right place; he just never wanted to see suffering befall any of the children.

“And I’m sparing you the suffering of quitting,” Pogo once said. “When I was young, I took it up. Well, it was introduced to me, as it were, by scientists and really, I’m getting ahead of myself. The fact remains that when I wanted to quit, I had a hell of a time doing so. And you’re so young, you’ll have an easier go at it. Quit, please.”

“Nah,” Klaus remembered saying, and Pogo shook his head while muttering something about coming to him when he was ready to stop smoking. 

“Pencil’s down, please,” the tutor said, and with that came the expected flurry of paper and pencils. “Bring me your essays, and please consider getting a head start on your assigned readings by beginning them during your break.”

Like hell Klaus was going to do homework during his summer break! No, he had places to go and people to fuck! He tore the paper with his name and the date from his notebook and rose up from his seat, practically skipping toward the tutor as he surrendered it to her. She took one look at the paper and gave Klaus a disappointed expression.

“Nothing?” she asked.

Klaus shrugged.

“You have zero credit for the semester. Zero. I’ll be left with no other choice but to make you repeat the coursework.”

“Or I could just, you know, drop out,” Klaus said.

“No, that will not be acceptable,” the tutor sighed. She tucked his paper into a blue folder and shook her head. “I’m disappointed in you, because I’ve been instructing you for a decade and I know that you’re smarter than this. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“I hope that we’ve instilled in each other a trust to where you would come to me if something were the matter,” the tutor said gently. “Anything you tell me would be in confidence. Not even your father would know.”

“Thanks for the offer means a lot to me, but I just hate English,” Klaus said flippantly. “I’ll take the F and I’ll see you in two weeks!”

He flashed the tutor a brief peace before turning on his heel and skipping toward the door, where he finally caught up with Ben loitering in the hall. He slung an arm around Ben’s neck and pulled him in for a rough hug.

“How’d ya think you did?” he asked. Ben hummed.

“I don’t know, but I hope I passed,” Ben said apprehensively. He tipped his head into the curve of Klaus’s neck. “I don’t understand classical lit like you do. How does any of it make any sense to you?”

“You just gotta visualize it, I guess,” Klaus said with a shrug. “A good writer can transport you to where they’re describing. Are you literally telling me that you didn’t picture ancient Greece when we were going over the poems together?” Ben gave Klaus a bewildered look.

“I can’t understand Homer,” he said simply. “I just can’t. And besides, you’re a shitty study buddy.”

“How so?”

“Duh, we distract each other?” Ben answered, his brow arched.

“Oh yeah, we do,” Klaus said in a faraway voice. He released Ben from his embrace and reached into his breast pocket, groping for a cigarette. Once he had fished it out, he tucked it behind his ear and nudged Ben with his elbow. “Garden?”

“Sure! Wait, what about lunch?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t really want to –” Klaus opened his mouth and stuck his pointer finger in, miming what he used to do long before he learned how to purge hands-free. “– afterwards so I think I’m gonna skip it today. But if you’re hungry, by all means.” Because what if Klaus suddenly decided he would rather be a hand model than a runway model? If he were going to insist on keeping the ghastly habit, it was important to master doing it hands-free!

“Then...do you want me to save you my dessert?” Ben asked with mild trepidation. He paused. “No, that’s mine. Want me to save you my napkin?”

“Of course, I’d love nothing more,” Klaus cooed. He pulled his lighter from his pocket and gave Ben a small wave. “I’ll meet up with you after lunch then. Garden.”

“Garden!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just looking for a protector  
> God never reached out in time
> 
> \- Wolf Alice, Silk

**Allison**

At six AM the alarm kicked on; its digital screeching shredding through an otherwise dead sleep.

Allison groaned lightly and rolled over, reaching far enough to slide the switch on the top of her alarm from on to off. She rolled back onto her back, her arms spread wide, and all around her she heard the muffled thrumming of a household coming to life as her siblings began falling out of bed, one by one.

All she needed to do was get to noon and her summer break would finally begin. And, if all went well, she would begin her spring semester (fall was just too out of reach) at a real, brick-and-mortar school. Preferably on a campus on the west coast, so that several thousand miles would separate her from her family.

It wasn’t that she disliked them, no. She liked (most of) them very much, some more than others. But she wanted to finally introduce herself to herself. She wanted to meet new people, she wanted to open her mind, and most importantly, she wanted to carve out an identity separate from that of ‘supernatural wunderkind’.

She had double and triple checked her academic achievements to those required by the state for a high-school diploma; it had come as no surprise that she and her siblings had exceeded these, considering Dad’s rigid and challenging academic demands. She could schedule to take her SATs, her ACTs, her ABCs and 123s if need be to qualify for college admissions! And then she could begin chipping away at a real, tangible degree from a real, tangible campus!

Several thousand miles away, of course.

(Of course.)

She imagined that it would be easy to win over both Mom and Pogo; they both had her best interests at heart and they both were quietly encouraging her to hang up her domino mask and pursue higher education once she finally turned eighteen. Convincing them to let her go sooner would be the very definition of a cakewalk! Then perhaps...perhaps they could talk Dad into agreeing as well.

It was an ice cube’s chance in hell, but a chance none-the-less.

She crawled out of bed and stretched before stepping out of her shorts and unbuttoning her top, shrugging out of the pajama material and folding it in half before setting it on the bed. She stood in front of her mirror and turned, smoothing her palm down the flat expanse of skin; her stomach looked flat and that was good.

She turned to fully face the mirror and stood with her feet together. If she could stand with her feet together and without her thighs touching then that was good, and her reflection indicated that she still had a little bit of a thigh gap. Then, she grabbed her breasts and with open palms, pushed up on them. Someday she’d be able to afford implants and then she’d finally have the figure she had always wanted, but for now the tried and true would have to make due: bathroom tissue.

It worked, didn’t it?

She stepped back toward her dresser and pulled open the top drawer. She retrieved a black and white polka dot bra and quickly pulled it on, taking as much time as necessary to adjust for maximum cleavage. She didn’t have much, but she was proud of what she had, damn it. She reached for her box of Kleenex and pulled two sheets at a time, balling them to their desired padding before tucking them into the cups of her bra.

She moved to her closet, pulled it open, and retrieved Friday’s skirt and blouse. The _only_ thing she liked about the stupid uniforms were their simplicity. Monday through Friday was the same: a dark skirt, a blouse, a necktie, and a blazer. Weekends were casual, but Monday through Friday were uniform sameness. She finished getting dressed - mindful to leave the top button of her blouse undone - before rolling her pleated skirt up one inch more.

She completed the outfit with dark knee-high stockings and chunky black platform boots, and once fully dressed, she ran glittering eyeliner above her top lashes, applied a few swipes of mascara and a slick of translucent purple lip gloss, and smiled. She looked as cute as she felt.

Maybe someone would notice.

(Banish the thought!)

She opened her bedroom door and stepped out, and as she pulled the door closed and turned to make her way down the hall, she slammed chest-to-chest with her brother Klaus, who was looking as though he had just run a marathon.

“Shit!”

“Watch where you’re going!” Allison snipped.

“Sorry Allison,” Klaus mumbled. At that instant, his face lit up. “Allison! Oh, hey! Are you doing anything later today?”

“No, why?”

“Chill?”

“Sure,” Allison said with a half-shrug. She stepped around Klaus and gave him a demure smile. “After lunch?”

“After lunch,” Klaus confirmed to her from over his shoulder, as he lifted his palm to the bathroom door. “C’mon I know you’re in there!” Klaus shouted as he pounded on the door.

“Chill out!” followed Ben’s response.

*

Allison had finished her essays on Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey with about twenty minutes to spare. Grecian epics weren’t exactly her cup of tea, and so she made it her intent to avoid pursuing classical literature in college. Her mind drifted over other possible majors, each one fitting her about as comfortably as a sweater knitted from barbed wire.

Math? No, she couldn’t figure out sums to save her life. Add letters to that, and she was dead.

History? Who cares what mistakes the people of the past made, when they continue to make those same mistakes today?

Politics? Oh my.

She huffed, and with her chin resting in her palm she turned her gaze to Luther. The way that his head was bent over his work and the angle at which the narrow shafts of sunlight filtered into the room met so perfectly that it made it appear as though his hair were spun from pale gold. She sighed dreamily, her eyelids falling heavily shut.

Luther.

She was twelve when she realized that she liked Luther. In Allison’s eyes, Luther was a beautiful blond prince astride a white horse. Luther was chivalrous romance and roses and the sip of sparkling wine she had stolen on New Years Eve.

Luther was sanctuary.

Most importantly, Luther was safe.

And she had a feeling that he liked her too, but he was so focused that he could be hard to reach. And as frustrating as it could be, she was willing to look past it because when he finally shifted the whole of his focus on to her...well, she’d be his entire universe.

Now, if only he would shift the whole of his focus on to _her_ , already!

“Pencil’s down, please,” the tutor said, and with that came the expected flurry of paper and pencils. “Bring me your essays, and please consider getting a head start on your assigned readings by beginning them during your break.”

Allison turned her attention back to her notebook and carefully separated the pages from their perforated edges. Once the papers had been free from their perforation and evenly tapped together, she nudged back from her seat and handed in her test.

“I look forward to reading your responses, you always produce nice work,” the tutor said mildly, and Allison smiled at the compliment.

She gathered her things from off of the pockmarked wooden desk and swished out of the library and toward the hall, where she met Luther. She gave him her most beguiling smile and sighed a musical “hi, Luther.”

“Hey Allison,” Luther said with a sparkling grin.

“Do you think you did well?” she asked, and Luther shrugged.

“I’ll know in two weeks,” he said pleasantly. “I bet you aced it.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“But you’re a good writer.”

Allison shrugged.

“I can get to the point, but I can’t pad to save my life,” she said. “But it’s as you said, we’ll know in two weeks.” The two fell into lockstep, ambling slowly down the hall as they made their way toward the dining room where it smelled like soup and some variety of sandwich was waiting. Allison wasn’t too fond of sandwiches; she wanted to get as much distance between herself and simple carbs as possible, and Mom certainly had a fondness for white fucking bread with the crusts cut off.

“Did you see Klaus knock the portrait off of the wall to get back at Dad this morning?” Luther asked. Allison hummed.

“I thought Mom said the wind did it.”

Luther slowed his walk to a stop and looked at Allison quizzically.

“Is that what you think?” he asked. Allison shrugged again.

“I felt a breeze.”

“Do you think Klaus is lying?” Luther asked.

“About what?” Allison asked, her tone quickly failing to hide her irritation. She glanced up at Luther, her brow arched. Didn’t he even _notice_ the maximum cleavage she spent fifteen minutes achieving? She crossed her arms and shook her head as she fixed her eyes to the toes of her boots.

“Oh, never mind,” Luther said distractedly, as his gaze turned to the plates of sandwiches made from white fucking bread with the crusts cut off waiting to be devoured in the dining room. The corners of his lips turned upward and he made a beeline toward his place at the table. “Hey Allison, do you think you’re going to want half of your sandwich? Allison?”

Except Allison had already walked away. She had a date to keep in the garden.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me, tell me, tell me  
> What you're after  
> Rush it, rush it, rush it  
> Who'd you root for?
> 
> \- Phoenix, Tuttifrutti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance if the story is slow burning; this should finish building the foundation. Writing it was the single most fun I had in a month.

**Allison**

Allison spotted Klaus in the garden, smoking a cigarette near the rose bushes by the aviary. She gave him a small wave before stepping into a jog to close the distance between them.

“Hey!” she exclaimed once she was in speaking distance. Klaus grinned and raised his right hand in greeting, before taking a quick glance at the cigarette pinched between his index and middle finger. He tossed it to the ground and quickly ground it out with the heel of his shoe before patting himself down.

“Just waiting on Ben and Diego,” he said distractedly. “Hey, do you have any gum?”

“Why, when we’re just gonna chill anyway?” Allison asked, smirking.

“No reason.”

“You sure?” she hummed. She leaned against his left shoulder and turned her attention to her leather messenger bag, pulling back the top flap to better dig through its contents. “Because I might have some on me if you’re that self-conscious…”

“Who said I was self-conscious?” Klaus asked defensively. He drew his left arm around her. “I have never in my life been self-conscious. But just so we’re on the same page, I don’t reek, do I?”

“You’re fine,” Allison giggled as she relaxed into Klaus’s embrace.

Klaus.

Klaus was Luther’s opposite. Unlike Luther, who was hard to reach and even harder to read, Klaus wore his heart on his sleeve. And because he wore his heart on his sleeve, Allison was able to pick up that he liked her. As in, he  _ really _ liked her.

So until Luther was willing to notice Allison, well...Allison didn’t mind reciprocating Klaus’s affections. Of course, her feelings for Klaus didn’t match the same intensity as her feelings for Luther, but she liked him nonetheless.

At least, that’s what she told herself. See, two Saturdays ago the coquetry that had been going on between Klaus and Allison finally came to a head, when Klaus and Ben decided that they wanted to catch a matinee showing of Mean Girls. And because the movie was leaving theaters, Klaus wanted to squeeze in as many more showings as he could. As they passed Allison in the hall, they asked if she wanted to come with them.

“Sure, why not?” she agreed. After all, she had only seen it once before, and she liked it enough to see it again.

The theater had been empty; clearly everyone who had wanted to see Mean Girls had already seen it. So the three took advantage of their good luck by laying claim to the center seats in the second row, threw their feet up on the headrests, and loudly parroted back lines from the movie during their favorite scenes. Besides, who was going to stop them?

It was partway through the movie when Ben decided that he desperately needed a re-up of his popcorn and Red Vines. So he snatched up his plastic tub and skipped back toward the lobby, before asking Klaus and Allison to fill him in on anything he might miss.

“We’ve already seen it five times but sure, I’ll fill you in,” Klaus said amiably, and once Ben had disappeared, Klaus quickly turned to Allison and nudged her shoulder.

“Hey, so can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Allison said, her eyes fixed on the screen.

“Do you think my hair looks sexy pushed back?” he asked, and as he did he attempted to flatten smooth his mop of curly hair.

Allison turned to face him.

“Do you want me to quote the movie, or do you want me to be honest?”

Klaus shrugged. So she leaned over her armrest, reached forward with her right hand, and snaked her fingers through his hair.

“I actually think it looks sexy like this,” she answered in a low voice, before shaking his hair into his eyes.

“Oh,” Klaus intoned. 

A brief, heavy pause fell between the two before Klaus blinked, cleared his throat, and said in a scratchy voice: “So, I think I’m gonna kiss you.”

To that, Allison wanted to prop her elbows on her armrest. She wanted to plant her chin in her palms, she wanted to smile a dreamy smile, and she wanted to say “Are you going to think about it or are you going to kiss me?”

But instead, she stammered a broken “o-o-okay”.

Smooth, Allison. Real smooth.

Thankfully, Klaus didn’t say anything about her lack of game. Instead, Klaus gathered her face in his hands, caressed her jaw with a kind of tenderness reserved for lovers, and kissed her. A real kiss, like how Bogie would kiss Bacall, and she had  _ always _ wanted a boy to kiss her like Bogie would kiss Bacall.

He even tasted like Vanilla Coke lip balm.

It was heaven.

“Everyone knows the back row is for making out, so cut that out or move,” Ben crowed as way of broadcasting his return. He plopped heavily into his seat, and in doing so spilled popcorn at his feet and into Klaus’s lap.

“Sorry,” Klaus bleated. He glanced at Allison and grinned. “Won’t happen again, promise.”

“Uh huh,” Ben grunted.

Allison remembered flashing a quick glance back at Klaus; won’t happen again? Really? And then, as though he could read her mind, he circled his right arm around her and rubbed her shoulder.

“I was crossing my fingers,” he whispered against her temple.

But that was two Saturdays ago and of course, it didn’t stop there. It only carried on for two weeks. Klaus even held her on the sofa while the pair watched America’s Next Top Model, and no one said a thing because none were the wiser!

So until Luther was willing to notice Allison, well...Allison didn’t mind reciprocating Klaus’s affections. 

She even found it kind of fun.

Just then, Diego and Ben jogged bunglingly toward the both of them, grins splashed on both of their faces. They skidded to a stop and uttered breathless greetings as Diego fished through the front pockets of his dark blazer. He retrieved a small joint and held it aloft.

“Chill?” he asked, and the other three nodded in agreement. He lit the joint, uttered a “to summer”, and took the first pull before passing it to his right.

“To summer!” Ben agreed, before bringing the joint to his lips.

Allison could still hear Luther’s disapproval when he learned that she often stole away to smoke a little marijuana with Klaus, Diego, and Ben. It was his firm belief that anyone who partook in drug use of any kind was a loser, and he hated to see Allison as a loser. But he kept quiet about it, as long as he never saw her high. And besides, she knew that marijuana was harmless and she could say with firm honesty that she had no interest in trying anything else illicit. Well, outside of a mouthful of wine here or there, but wine was benign too, wasn’t it?

Of course!

Ben passed the joint to Allison, who took it gratefully. She closed her eyes and inhaled, holding her breath for a moment before exhaling slowly and passing it to Klaus. She was still enough of a lightweight that it only took a handful of hits before she felt nice and soft, and before long she was feeling that comfortable warmth only THC could provide.

“I get why Luther doesn’t come out here, but I wonder why Vanya won’t hang with us,” Ben asked.

“It’s ‘cuz she’s ordinary,” Diego said with a nod. “And she don’t feel included.”

“I hope she knows she’s always invited to hang with us. I mean, she’s always invited to hang with us...right?” Ben asked. The others nodded.

“Vanya’s cool,” Klaus agreed.

“I don’t know, sometimes she can act a little stuck up,” Allison said quietly. The others nodded.

“She can act a little stuck up, but she’s not as bad as Five –” Klaus began, and he stopped speaking immediately. A sort of uneasiness fell over the small circle, and he coughed. “But she’s cool. Maybe we’ll break her down and she’ll finally come around.” The others nodded.

Once the joint was well and truly finished, Diego said his goodbyes and Ben began to head back toward the house before turning to wait for Klaus.

“You go on ahead, I promised Allison I’d catch up with her,” Klaus said, and Ben nodded before sprinting back toward the house. Klaus waited until he was certain they were alone before turning his attention to Allison. She cast him a quizzical expression and spread her hands.

“I don’t remember…”

“I had to shoo him away,” Klaus said quickly as a way of explanation.

“So...then what did you want to talk about?” she asked, her tone careful. Klaus shook his head.

“Mm no, I didn’t want to talk, but I did want to do this,” he said. He took one, two steps closer before circling his left arm around Allison’s waist. Then, he bent down to press a quick kiss to the corner of her lips.

Allison’s heart began to beat a little faster, despite the high from the pot. Her face cracked into a smile and she opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a high, breathy giggle.

“When are you gonna let me take you to another movie?” Klaus asked.

“I thought you went to the movies with Ben,” Allison teased.

“Yeah well, no offense but I don’t want to sit in the back row with Ben when I could sit in the back row with you,” Klaus said. His eyes quickly flicked over her breasts - well, at least  _ he _ noticed her fifteen minutes of effort - before returning her gaze. “I mean, only if it’s okay with you…”

“Let me check my schedule,” Allison said.

“Okay,” Klaus whined. He released Allison from his embrace before taking one glance back at the estate. “I told Ben I wouldn’t keep him waiting, so I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Oh, you will,” Allison said sweetly and she smiled, more to herself than to Klaus.

Smooth, Allison. Real smooth.

*

Allison hovered by Vanya’s door, waiting until the violin had slowed to a stop before asking if she could come in. Vanya nodded as she gingerly lay her instrument inside its case.

“You look...ah...” Vanya began, before cracking a small, awkward smile. Allison giggled lightly as she nudged the door closed with her heel.

“Yeah...ah...a way to mark the start of summer,” she tittered. “Anyway, so I was hoping I could talk to you?”

“’Bout what?”

“Boys.”

“You know I’m far from the expert, that’s more of Klaus’s territory,” Vanya said, her brow knitted.

“I can’t talk to him.”

“And why’s that?”

“It has somewhat to do with him,” Allison said.

“Ah,” Vanya began, as a look of confusion continued to spread over her face. “Anyway, go on.”

“If you had to choose between Luther or Klaus, who would you choose, and why isn’t it the other?” Allison asked. She turned her gaze up toward the ceiling. “Did that make sense? I’m a little high.”

“No, I can tell,” Vanya laughed. “To answer you, neither. You know that, neither of them are particularly my type.”

“And why’s that?”

“Luther is too critical, and this might sound nitpicky but I hate that I have to explain jokes to him, every single time I tell one. And as for Klaus, I don’t think he’s really interested in girls, he just likes sex wherever he can find it,” Vanya explained with a shrug. “No, both are just not my type, I’m sorry.”

“Then can I ask who  _ is _ your type?” Allison probed, and Vanya ducked her head.

“Ah,” she began. “It’s weird, they’re our siblings.”

“By name only,” Allison said with a lazy shrug. “And besides, it’s not like Dad allows us to go out and meet people our own age.”

“True,” Vanya said. After a moment, she lowered her gaze, sighed, and said “Five would be the closest one to fit the bill, I guess.” Allison gave Vanya a small smile.

“I coulda guessed,” she said.

“How?”

“You leave his favorite sandwich out and the light on for him every night,” she said. “What made him special?” Vanya shrugged.

“I don’t know, I guess...well, he was always nice to me. He always made me feel, I don’t know, included.” She glanced up at the ceiling and sighed. “Once, when we were twelve, he...he asked me to go get donuts with him, and we went to the park together.” She smiled at the memory. “I don’t know, it was just cute.”

“Did he pay?”

“Hm?”

“For the donuts. Did he pay?”

“Yeah, but I said I would pay the next time. Why?”

“You  _ do _ know that was a date, right?”

“Oh no,” Vanya said, shaking her head. “No, it wasn’t a date.”

“Tell me how it wasn’t a date,” Allison said. “What didn’t happen?” Vanya laughed quietly.

“I mean, it could have been a date…he did hold my hand...” she said with trepidation. Allison smiled knowingly.

“Definitely a date,” she concluded. “Wow, I have to hand it to Five, I never would have pegged him for being the first of us to go out on a date. And you, to the same extent. Well, that’s cute. I just hope he finds his way back soon so that he can take you on the second date you both deserve,” she finished, as she turned her head to stare at Vanya’s wall.

“Me too,” Vanya said in a small voice. She nudged Allison’s toe with the toe of her Doc Martin boot. “Let me ask you: between Luther and Klaus, which boy would you want to take you out on a date?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know,” Allison said honestly. She looked back at Vanya. “I mean, sometimes I don’t even know if Luther likes me in the same way, I mean, I feel like I like him more than he likes me, you know? And Klaus, he...” Allison suddenly reached out and touched Vanya’s wrist lightly. “Can I tell you something?” Vanya nodded. “He kissed me. Like, really kissed me.”

“What? When?” Vanya asked.

“Two weeks ago, when we saw Mean Girls.”

“And has Luther ever kissed you?” Vanya asked. Allison shook her head.

“He hardly gives me the time of day anymore as it is.” 

“It seems obvious to me then,” Vanya said with a shrug.

“I don’t know…”

“Let me put it this way. How long are you willing to wait on Luther to ask you out, when Klaus already likes you?” Vanya asked. Allison shrugged and lifted her left pinkie to her lips. She began to chew the edge of her nail. Vanya had a point.

“Thanks, this has helped a lot, like,  _ a lot _ ,” Allison said.

“I’m glad I can help,” Vanya said good-naturedly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look out at your children  
> See their faces in golden rays  
> Don't kid yourself they belong to you  
> They're the start of a coming race
> 
> \- David Bowie, Oh! You Pretty Things

**Ben**

Ben exhaled a cloud of smoke and placed the bong and lighter back down on the low coffee table. The irony was that the higher he got, the clearer his memory from the morning became: he saw Klaus’s lighter  _ fwipt _ flick right into the palm of his hand.

And how did Ben know?

Because he wasn’t even high that morning! He hadn’t had his first hit until well after lunch, in the garden with his siblings! No, Ben was stone-cold sober when he watched Klaus summon the lighter!

Ben was, to his own admission, a moderate stoner. See, Klaus - being the very definition of temperance - introduced Ben to pot when they were both twelve. Klaus knew an older kid who knew another older kid whose brother’s SAT tutor from the private school three blocks away sold weed, and that’s where Klaus got it, and that’s when Klaus introduced it to Ben.

But it wasn’t all deviant, no sir! It actually _ helped _ !

It helped Ben sleep!

It helped Ben eat!

And most importantly of all…

It helped Ben  _ completely _ forget about the seventeen different men that he had slaughtered! It helped Ben  _ completely _ forget about the children that had been left fatherless when he tore their fathers limb-from-limb!

Anyway.

That’s how Ben got to where he was at the present: high as balls and jonesing for Red Vines as he fixated on Klaus’s lighter.

He hesitated for only a moment before lifting the bong and lighter and taking another long pull from the glass. Wow. Absolutely incredible. He held his hit before exhaling slowly, and before long his fingers lost their feeling.

Absolutely.

Incredible.

Just then Klaus appeared, and Ben quickly blinked back his surprise.

“Oh wow, you can teleport too, just like Five,” he exhaled.

“What the fuck?” Klaus asked. Ben giggled into his sleeve.

“Dude, this shit is incredible, have some,” he offered, and Klaus took a seat next to Ben on the threadbare camel-back sofa.

The manor was a literal labyrinth, and collectively the children agreed that they had yet to explore all of its secrets. Thankfully, one such secret that Klaus and Ben were able to create was tucked away in the attic, above a long-forgotten wing of the manor. The space was generous and decorated with their findings, pilfered from street corners and picked up at thrift stores: a CRT television, the threadbare camel-back sofa and assorted bean bag furniture, walls decorated with tapestries, posters, and fairy lights, and the crowning piece of the whole collection: Ben’s PlayStation.

Several allowances afforded Ben that PlayStation, and Ben loved it fiercely. After all, video games were explicitly banned from the household and even quiet, introverted Ben liked to keep a tiny piece of “fuck you” close to the breast simply to spite Dad. And of his modest collection of games, his favorite was without question Final Fantasy VII. He had sunk a little over two hundred hours into the game in a mission to find everything.

He felt like he was close.

Klaus returned the bong back to the low coffee table and exhaled. He paused, as though he were assessing the weed, and nodded.

“Not bad, I’ll have to have some more of course, but not bad,” he concluded. He sat back and placed his hand on Ben’s knee. “How high are you right now?”

“Oh my God,” Ben giggled. He paused and looked at Klaus through half-shut eyes. “Dude, I’ve been thinking about you.”

“And touching yourself? Please tell me you were touching yourself while you were thinking about me,” Klaus begged. Ben stared at him quizzically. Klaus shook his head. “Never mind. Why were you thinking about me?”

“Because I saw you summon the lighter,” Ben said with a measure of sternness, and Klaus burst into laughter.

“You are so high,” he said dismissively.

“But I wasn’t this morning, and that’s when I saw the lighter fly into your hand, dude, open your mind, you’re telekinetic!”

“Ben, I assure you, I’m not telekinetic.”

“Except that you are!”

“Ben,” Klaus said gently, and he gave Ben’s knee a squeeze. “I’m not telekinetic.”

“Prove it,” Ben whispered, as he brought his face close to Klaus’s. Klaus stared Ben down for a moment before flashing him an easy grin.

“Let’s do it, baby,” he purred.

It was how, ten minutes later, the boys found themselves squaring off in the space of their attic hideaway. Ben stood a good ten or so feet away across from Klaus, next to a short table where Ben had placed his keys. He clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together for good measure.

“Okay, so this is what we’re gonna do,” Ben said, as he held his hands a foot or so apart for illustration. “You’re going to stand right there and you’re going to summon the keys over to you.”

“How.”

“By using your ability, duh!”

Klaus snapped his fingers impatiently.

“Ghosts? Bring me Ben’s keys,” he said. He shrugged. “See, my ability can’t help you.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short!” Ben huffed.

“It’s been well established that my thing is I see dead people,” Klaus said dismissively. “That’s all. I don’t get to spread fun little rumors, I can’t pop through time, and I certainly don’t have a goddamn nightmare living under my shirt. I just. See. Dead. People.”

“Hey,” Ben whined, and he hugged himself. “Be nice to my pet monster.”

“Is that what you call it?”

Ben nodded.

“Oh my God!” Klaus laughed. “That’s adorable!”

Ben beamed before his expression changed to one of utmost seriousness.

“Maybe you just need to try a little harder,” he said. Klaus shook his head.

“If I put even the slightest effort into something, it gets Dad’s attention and –”

“I’m not Dad,” Ben said gently.

“Fine. But only for you, and only this one time.” Klaus exhaled shortly and spread his legs for stability before closing his eyes and lifting his right arm, his fingers spread.

He sighed.

“I feel stupid,” he moaned.

“Just focus,” Ben said encouragingly, and Klaus nodded as he tried to picture Ben’s key ring. Three keys – one to the front door, one to the back door, and one to nowhere that Ben had come to possess after a weekend in a youth psychiatric hospital – all held together on a cloudy, plastic tag that read “You laugh because I’m different, I laugh because you’re all the same”. And as he visualized the key ring, he recalled the distinct weight of it and the way that the cheap, plastic tag felt rough and slightly gummy in his palm...when…

“Is anything happening?”

“NOPE!” Ben exclaimed, as he gave Klaus a double thumbs up.

“Not even a wiggle?”

“Not even a wiggle!” Ben repeated, in the same upbeat tone. Ben scratched his jaw and hummed. “You might be too far away, and the keys might be too heavy. Hey, come a little closer, I have an idea. Can I have one of your cigarettes?”

“Sure, I guess,” Klaus said. He reached into his breast pocket, pinched a cigarette by its butt, and pulled it from his blazer before handing it over to Ben. “What’s the plan?”

Ben hastily scooped up his keys and pocketed them before setting the cigarette flat on the table. He held his hands as though he could will it to sit and stay, good boy, before taking a few steps back and yielded the floor to Klaus.

“Try standing closer, this might be light enough for you,” he said, and Klaus nodded before balancing his stance and closing his eyes. He extended his right hand, fingers spread, as he allowed his visualization of the cigarette to fill his mind. They weren’t his favorite brand of cigarettes, and he was still a long ways away from being able to afford the brand he saw Kate Moss smoke, but Klaus wasn’t a choosy beggar. Of course visualizing the cigarette would be easy.

“Ben...” Klaus whined. “This isn’t working and I feel stupid.”

“Maybe it only works when you’re  _ not _ thinking about it?” Ben suggested.

“Dude, come on...” Klaus pleaded.

“I saw it!”

“And I don’t doubt you at all, but...I don’t think it actually happened.” He lifted his wrist to check the time and sighed. “I should go back downstairs.”

“Three?” Ben asked. Klaus nodded stiffly.

“Close. If I’m late he’ll add another hour,” Klaus said quietly. He shook his head. “Maybe I can apologize for this morning, do you think…?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said quietly as he turned his attention to the toes of his slide-on Vans. “At least it’s just an hour.”

“Just an hour,” Klaus agreed with a nod. “If I never see you again, remember that I love you.”

“You’ll see me in an hour,” Ben said firmly, with a warm smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The call to arms was never true,  
> I'm medicated, how are you?  
> Let's take a dive, swim right through,  
> Sophisticated point of view.
> 
> \- Placebo, Follow the Cops Back Home

**Klaus**

Klaus felt his legs slowing down the closer he approached the front foyer. He wanted to maintain a brave facade, really, he did, but with each footstep he felt his resolve slipping away.

It embarrassed him.

Reginald Hargreeves terrified him, and it embarrassed him.

He swallowed heavily as he slowed to a halt. Standing before him and cloaked by shadow were the imposing figures of both Reginald and Pogo, kind Pogo, Klaus’s guardian and Reginald’s enforcer.

He took a deep breath and willed himself to take one step more

then one more

then one more.

It was only an hour.

He could handle an hour.

An hour was nothing.

When he was finally standing before both his ‘father’ and the chimpanzee who was more of a father to him than Reginald could ever aspire to be, he cleared his throat and began searching for the words that would form his apology. Because uttering “duh” at breakfast was clearly an affront to all that was good and decent and thus worthy of such draconian punishments.

Clearly.

“I...” Klaus began.

“You’ll speak when you’re spoken to, Number Four,” Reginald interrupted. He then retrieved an antique gold pocket watch which had been fastened with a gold chain to the pocket of his fitted waistcoat, and as he did he depressed the crown on its bezel to release the watch’s face plate. He briefly glanced at the time before mumbling to Pogo that it was three o’clock and as quickly as he had retrieved the watch he tucked it away. He fixed his cold gaze on Klaus and crossed his arms in front of him, his left hand holding his right wrist.

“But I wanted to apologize, for talking back this morning –” Klaus continued, and Reginald spoke over him with a hasty “Come with me”.

Klaus swiveled his eyes at Pogo. For a moment, Pogo’s gaze met Klaus’s, before Pogo lowered his eyes and turned his attention to Reginald.

“Pogo, please –” Klaus said thickly. He reached for his throat. He felt like it was closing around his words, strangling him into silence.

“SILENCE!” Reginald roared.

“Just let me apologize –”

“Your hollow words come too late Number Four!” Reginald barked. “Now, will you come willingly or will I need to have you sedated?”

Pogo shook his head. He hated the sound of the latter as much as Klaus did, but Klaus couldn’t overlook the fact that in this moment Pogo was no longer his friend, nor his protector. In this moment, Pogo was Reginald’s enforcer, there to carry out any and all of Reginald’s demands.

Who else sedated the children when Reginald deemed them to be out of hand?

It certainly wasn’t Grace, who was programmed to do no harm.

“I don’t want to go, you can’t make me go, this is wrong, this is abuse, I can call CYF and CYF can –” Klaus began to babble, and with that Reginald cast Klaus a look that sent chills down his spine.

“Your threats are impotent, Number Four. It would benefit you to remember that you are a child and that you are, for all intents and purposes, mine until you turn eighteen. Then and _only_ then I will throw you out on the street where you belong. But until that day comes you are mine, and you will do as you’re told. Do you understand me?”

And with a voice that threatened to shred Klaus’s vocal cords, he screamed “No! You can’t make me go with you, fuck you, _FUCK YOU_!”

Well, Klaus thought pathetically, there went the brave facade.

Because nothing sent Klaus into a panic as quickly as the mausoleum did. And Reginald knew that. After all, that was how the mausoleum went from being an integral cornerstone in Klaus’s training, to becoming an integral cornerstone in his punishments.

All Reginald needed to do was merely mention the threat of it, and Klaus stepped into line.

Well, for the most part.

“Restrain him,” Reginald commanded Pogo. And with a shake of his head, he added, “And add a half an hour for the incessant wailing. Come along, the timer doesn’t begin until I seal the door.”

*

The mausoleum was an ancient structure, erected from white marble and wrought iron. In fact, it was the oldest structure on the grounds, having been constructed long before the rest of the land had been converted into residential plots to be sold off part and parcel to the highest bidder.

Klaus had officially been visiting the mausoleum with some regularity for seven years, and each visit began exactly the same way: when the heavy marble doors were sealed shut, and when Reginald brought the wrought iron gates together and locked them up tight did the timer for his sentence begin its slow, measured count to zero.

What transpired once Klaus was locked inside never mattered. Of course, he knew that Reginald’s intent was for him to use his time inside the mausoleum to focus on his abilities. At its core that was the purpose of these punishments, but rather than while away the minutes by focusing on his powers like a good inmate, he would pace.

Yell.

Cry.

And when he wasn’t pacing, yelling, or crying (and often at the same time), he would attempt to slide his fingers between the cracks of the tall, heavy marble doors, pushing and pulling in a futile attempt to pry the slabs apart. And what a fat lot of good that was, all it did was leave him with broken nails.

Finally, the wrought iron doors would squeak apart, then, the milky white marble slabs would swing open, and finally Klaus would be greeted with what was often a cool, late-night breeze and the moon’s silver rays. And he would finally be allowed back inside, where Pogo would offer him a cup of chamomile tea, and then it was off to bed with him before the cycle would inevitably repeat itself again.

It was a little after five that evening when Klaus’s isolation came to an end and he was finally allowed back inside, where Pogo already had a cup of chamomile tea ready and waiting for him in the kitchen.

“At least you won’t miss dinner,” Pogo said in a soft voice. Klaus shook his head lightly.

“Not hungry,” he murmured.

“I’ve noticed that you haven’t had anything to eat today. You must be famished. Please, have dinner. If not all, then at least some.”

“Tomorrow,” Klaus said, and Pogo sighed.

“Klaus,” Pogo pressed, his tone pleading. “I’m only trying to help. But how can I help you when you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”

“Help?” Klaus asked. He laughed bitterly. “Where was this help two hours ago?”

“Klaus - ”

“You can’t even stand up to Dad, so what makes you think you can _help_ me?”

Pogo pursed his lips and lowered his gaze. That would be the end of that conversation.

And with that Klaus slipped away, back into the (relative) safety of his bedroom, where he could focus on one important task: drink.

Drink until you can no longer feel.

Drink until you fade to black.

*

Klaus was inching closer to the point of drinking until he could no longer feel when a knock came to his door. Before he could swallow his vodka and grunt out a terse “come in”, the door swung open and in its frame stood Ben. Klaus grinned; he was just thinking of Ben and the possibility of crashing with Ben for the night, and wasn’t it just his good luck that Ben would arrive, right as Klaus was thinking of him?

Except Ben wasn’t smiling. No, if anything, Ben looked...moody. And Klaus hated it when Ben was...moody.

“Womp womp, the fun police have arrived,” Klaus said thickly. He waved his flask at Ben. “Want some?”

“No.”

“It goes down smoother than the last one, promise.”

Ben stepped into the room and pushed the door shut with his heel. He crossed his arms and tried to give Klaus his most disappointed expression.

“I don’t like it when you’re like this,” Ben said quietly.

“Like what?”

“Drunk.”

“’Kay, and I don’t like it when you cut yourself so we both lose,” Klaus said sharply before slugging back another gulp of Grey Goose. On an empty stomach, boy did it get him drunk and _fast_!

“I think you’ve had enough!” Ben snapped, his tone significantly sharper. “Now give me that flask!”

“Come over here and take it from me!”

Ben balled his fists in his hair and groaned with frustration. Finally, he dropped his arms to his side, closed his eyes, and with a level voice said “Please give me that flask.”

Klaus sighed.

“Fine, here,” he grumbled. He held the flask out toward Ben and gave it a couple shakes. “This isn’t gonna stop me from drinking, but if it makes you feel any better...”

Ben took the flask from Klaus and tucked it away before replacing it with his clear orange pill bottle. One for the other. He twisted the white safety cap off of the bottle and offered it to Klaus.

“Remember what you told me, when you gave these to me?” Ben asked. “Take one, and wait half an hour if things start to get overwhelming. Do you think it’ll help you too? Because it actually helps me...”

Klaus clumsily reached into the bottle and groped for a PEZ, turning it over between his index finger and thumb before frowning.

“I hate orange,” he complained, before tipping his head back and dropping the candy down the hatch. “Can I have a little vodka to wash that down with?”

“No,” Ben said firmly.

“Worth a shot,” Klaus said with a shrug. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Do you sometimes wish Dad would just beat us instead?” He covered his hands over his mouth and hiccuped. “Like, why can’t Dad, you know, just be physically abusive? I think that’d be nice...preferable, even...”

“Don’t talk like that,” Ben said quietly. He took a seat next to Klaus, legs crossed. “D’ya wanna maybe stay with me tonight? I mean, I’m probably gonna have nightmares anyway, but so’re you...”

“I was thinking of asking you the very same thing,” Klaus mumbled. “So I take it then that you’re not mad? At me?”

Ben shook his head.

“I don’t like it when you’re drunk, but...” Ben shrugged. “Do you promise you’ll sleep it off this time and not drink tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Can’t you at least try?”

“I guess,” Klaus said with a measure of defeat. “But only if you share your weed with me.”

“I always share my weed with you,” Ben said quietly. “I’d never want to share it with anyone else but you.”

Klaus nodded, and for a moment a feeling of calm seemed to settle over the two boys, before Ben glanced over and realized the small squeaking that he heard was coming from Klaus. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

“You okay?” Ben asked. Klaus laughed.

“Why can’t Dad just be physically abusive?” he repeated. He hiccuped again, and it was then that Ben realized Klaus was crying. He leaned in and circled his arms around Klaus, before resting his chin on the top of Klaus’s head.

“Fuck Dad,” Ben whispered. “B’sides, we only have three more years, and then we’re free. Three more years. We can do that.” He squeezed Klaus with all of his strength before uttering a small “Hey Klaus?”

“Hn?”

“Remember when we became blood brothers?”

Klaus smiled. There was a memory that transported him back to 1998, when he was nine and had heard from an older kid that two people, unrelated by blood, could forge an unbreakable bond through a secret blood ritual. And he told Ben that the older kid had told him that in order to become blood brothers, all that they needed to do was prick their index fingers with a safety pin and press their fingers together, et voila.

So later, in the garden and hidden away near the rose bushes by the aviary, little Number Four and little Number Six pricked their right index fingers with a safety pin, smooshed their bloody digits together, and vowed that nothing and no one would ever come between them.

“How could I forget?” Klaus finally said.

“Remember what we promised each other?”

“That nothing and no one would ever come between us. Why?”

Ben hummed as he thought over his response. Finally, he said in a no-nonsense kind of way, “So do you think I can take on Dad, or should I wait a couple more years?” With that, Klaus began to laugh. To really laugh.

“Wait a couple more years, and we’ll take him down together,” Klaus said. He paused, and then came his turn to hum to himself.

The PEZ had worked after all, despite his aversion to orange.

There. A pleasant surprise to round out his day.

Klaus certainly felt like a lucky guy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trick is getting you to think that all this was your idea  
> And that this was everything you've ever wanted out of here
> 
> Love's not a competition but I'm winning
> 
> \- Kaiser Chiefs, Love's Not a Competition...

**Allison**

**August 14, 2004**

Allison sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, keeping watch over the dogeared Rider-Waite tarot cards fanned out in front of her.

In her hands she carefully held The Lovers. She narrowed her eyes in concentration as she drank in the image printed on the face of the card: a man and a woman standing in the garden of Eden, as an angel wearing a crown of red roses watches on.

She sighed and folded the card back in with the rest, before gathering the cards into a neat pile and reshuffling the entire deck. The Lovers: when read upright it could suggest perfect love. And should Allison draw The Lovers in a love reading, she would insert herself into the card as Eve, obviously.

But who was Adam?

Was he the safe, stable boy who was the living embodiment of all that she ever dreamed of when she pictured the love of her life, or was he the dangerous, unstable boy who sometimes threw up in his closet because he got too drunk to make it to the toilet?

Allison continued to shuffle her deck several more times, her mind wandering toward nothing in particular. And when she felt the time was right, she ceased shuffling and drew the first card from the top of the deck.

The Tower. Upright.

She frowned. The Tower: when read upright it could suggest chaos, upheaval. Typically a card she hoped to avoid. Gingerly, she sat The Tower to the side and wiped her fingers on her leggings, as though the card itself had been tainted. She needed clarification; what did The Tower have to do with her?

She picked her clarifier card from off of the top of the deck, and frowned again once she had turned it over. The Ten of Swords. Upright. When read upright, the Ten of Swords could suggest betrayal; a painful and chaotic end to the situation at hand.

No, that only amplified The Tower and made it worse.

She flicked the card away from her and hurriedly snatched the next card from off of the top of the deck. The Moon. Upright. When read upright, The Moon could suggest fear and emotional distress; nothing is as it seems and wounds left untreated from the past come back to demand closure.

What?

No, this made no sense!

She pushed her cards away in a huff before groaning with defeat and gathering them back into their beaten red and yellow paperboard box. What a strange reading. She couldn’t possibly understand what it could mean. Clearly, it had nothing to do with her feelings toward...well…

A gentle tap on her door frame stirred Allison back to reality. She tucked her tarot cards back under her bed and uncrossed her legs, stretching them out before her.

“Hi, Klaus,” she said with a smile.

“Hey, so I had a rough night and I simultaneously look  _ and _ feel like death, but that’s okay because Anna Wintour gave it her approval ahead of the September issue. Anyway, I was thinking mimosas and sun, out in the garden?” Klaus asked, as he leaned dramatically into the door frame.

“Can I pass on the mimosas?” Allison asked.

“Mimosas are included in the package, but I’ll drink yours. I’ll need a little pick-me-up to get me going, this hangover is  _ blendend _ .”

“And that’s why we’re getting sun?” Allison asked coolly. Unlike Klaus, Allison didn’t drink alcohol outside of the rare sip or two of wine that she would steal when the adults weren’t looking, so she couldn’t speak for Klaus’s hangover. But it was always her understanding that hangovers had the unpleasant ability of making one photosensitive, so Klaus’s desire for sun struck Allison as being counterproductive. Then again, what did Allison know? She wasn’t the one with a hangover.

Meanwhile, Klaus flashed her a confident grin.

“Of course! Because guess who has D&G sunglasses?”

“Not you.”

“Absolutely correct. But I do have the next best thing and that’s a pair of decent quality knock offs, so are we gonna kiki in the garden or are we gonna kiki in the garden?”

“Kiki in the…? What?” Allison asked.

“You need to get out more. Let me take you out. Tonight?” Klaus asked.

“Short notice,” Allison tittered.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

Allison paused.

_ Well. Let’s not be hasty _ , she thought.  _ Because it’s not like Luther’s beating down the door, desperate to ask you out quite yet _ . So she glanced up at Klaus from under her eyelashes and gave him her very best Bette Davis eyes.

“I suppose if you told me what you have in mind, I might reconsider.”

“Does Luther know?”

“He doesn’t own me.”

“Fair,” Klaus hummed. “Do you have a fake ID?”

“Of course not,” Allison scoffed.

“Of course not,” Klaus repeated. “Then how’s ‘bout I pick you up ‘round six for the ice cream social at the Baptist church down the street, and I’ll have you back home by curfew?”

“Perfect,” Allison said with a grin. “Now, if you don’t mind…?”

“Mind what?”

“If we’re going to get sun, I’m going to need to change?” she stated as though it were obvious. “Unless ‘sun’ is a euphemism for something.”

“Not this time,” Klaus said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Let me go get my Water Wings and I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

“Alright,” Allison said breezily as Klaus pulled her door closed. Once she was alone, she reached back under her bed, this time for a crunchy plastic mailing bag that she had intercepted from the administrative staff.

Three weeks ago she saw a lavender bikini in a teen fashion catalog. The price was ridiculous – they wanted twenty bucks for the top AND twenty bucks for the bottom! – but the cut was cuter than anything she had ever seen, so she dutifully filled out the order form and mailed her forty dollars plus tax PLUS shipping AND handling (!!!) back to the catalog for a lavender bikini.

And last week?

It finally came in!

Quickly, she ripped open the grungy white plastic bag and retrieved its contents: low cut briefs that tied at the hips with long beaded strings, and a tiny padded top that would lift her Bs into Cs. She felt the corners of her lips twitch into a smirk.

Nice.

Once she had changed, she stepped into her wedge flip flops, grabbed her sunglasses, and anticipating that Mom or Pogo might have some opinions on Allison’s new bikini, threw on a large, oversized white t-shirt emblazoned with a faded black NO FEAR logo.

She shrugged at her reflection in the mirror.

It would just have to do until she was in the garden and away from unwelcome eyes.

*

“You know what isn’t fair?”

“Mm?”

“That we have a fucking  _ billionaire _ for a father, and yet I’m reduced to stealing fake D&G sunglasses from the drugstore,” Klaus pouted. He kicked the ash off his cigarette and held it aloft. “We see literally none of the benefits for being the progeny of a billionaire. What then is the point?”

“You’d steal those ugly things anyway,” Allison said flatly.

“Hey, these are not ugly! Beyonce has a pair..of the real ones, anyway.”

“Money doesn’t buy taste.”

Klaus lifted his fake D&G sunglasses for dramatic effect and gasped, as he slowly rose into a full seated position in his cheap vinyl chaise lounge.

“Ouch,” he hissed. “I felt that!”

Allison shrugged and sipped her orange juice. Virgin, although a mimosa had been tempting.

The pair had slipped out through a side exit and around the back, by the laundry wing. Or was it the kitchen? Fifteen years old, and Allison still got lost inside of her own damn house. She always felt that it was too big, too old, too cold. Why did it have to be an intimidating, wheezing manor? Why couldn’t it be a bright, modern home sat atop a green hill? Or better yet, a mansion tucked away behind a gate in Hidden Hills? No, it had to be the intimidating, wheezing manor, with its hidden bookshelves, its Penrose steps, and its wardrobes that lead unwitting children into magical lands where they would gorge themselves on Turkish Delight and slowly freeze to death.

Once in the garden and hidden away near the rose bushes by the aviary, the pair assembled their cheap vinyl chaise lounges that they had liberated from the shed. Finally, they tossed their beach blankets over their respective lawn chairs in a bid to keep the vinyl straps from cutting into their thighs and together the teens stretched out under the sun, blissfully unaware of silly little things like UV levels and the risk of melanoma.

“Can I ask you something?” Klaus asked, and Allison shrugged in response. “Is that really the first thing you thought to wear when I asked you if you wanted to get some sun with me?”

“Oh!” Allison gasped. She sat up and reached for the hem of her oversized white t-shirt, before carefully lifting it off. She dropped the shirt onto the grass, readjusted the bikini’s cups, and settled back into the chaise with a small, comfortable sigh.

Klaus dropped his cigarette.

“Uh.”

“Yes?”

“Is that?”

“Uh huh?”

“New?”

“It’s new,” Allison said with a smile. “Do you like it?”

Klaus swallowed heavily and plucked his cigarette from the grass. Determining that it was still good, he raised it to his lips and relit it. He nodded quickly and exhaled a puff of smoke.

“It’s nice. Cute. Very cute. Like Jinx, only lavender, not orange. James Bond. Have we seen that one? It’s a good one.”

“You’re rambling.”

“Am I?” Klaus asked.

Allison smiled. She readjusted her chaise, reclining the back so that it now lay flat. She turned onto her side, one arm draped casually along the curve of her waist, her hand settling flat on her hip. She tilted her head beguilingly.

“If it’ll make you more comfortable I could put my t-shirt back on,” she teased.

“But your summer tan.”

“Do you really think I worry about my summer tan?” she asked.

“No, but I do,” Klaus said. “And I’d hate to see you suffer from the indignity of uneven tan lines.”

Bless the boy, he missed her point entirely. But she couldn’t fault him for being unable to think clearly when she obviously held him transfixed. And she?

She knew what she was doing.

She knew what she was doing, and she liked how it made her feel. Because it wasn’t the lavender bikini that commanded Klaus’s attention; it was  _ her _ . The bikini was her clarifier; it amplified her power, and this was a power that was infinitely more fascinating than some of the rumors she heard.

An odd sensation began to unfurl in the pit of Allison’s stomach, like kindling reacting slowly to a spark. Her eyes casually darted over the grounds, back toward the labyrinth they called a home. They were perfectly alone; there didn’t seem to be anyone around. Perhaps she could explore this new ability of hers she thought, as the thrill of excitement sent a chill down her spine.

“Klaus?” she asked, her voice high.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to come over here?” she asked, and before Klaus could scramble out of his chaise and into hers Ben materialized as Ben often did, because Ben and Klaus were like magnets on metal and snapped back together when they came apart.

“I looked all over for you! I was about to give up and go upstairs but then I remembered that maybe you had gone out here to smoke so I decided to take one last look and hi Allison you look really pretty today,” Ben said cheerfully. Allison broke into a large, authentic grin.

“Thank you Ben, that’s sweet,” she said.

Ben studied Klaus for an extended amount of time before shuffling toward the chaise. He gently nudged Klaus.

“Move.”

Klaus didn’t move.

Ben placed both palms on Klaus’s bare shoulder and tried to push.

“MOVE,” Ben grunted. Finally, he sighed and swung his leg over Klaus, straddling him briefly before collapsing on top of him, not unlike a fully grown Great Dane who believed that he was still a puppy. He jostled Klaus as he struggled to get himself comfortable, before sighing contentedly once the two were finally entangled in an uncomfortably comfortable embrace atop the cheap vinyl chaise lounge.

“Thank you Ben,” Klaus said flatly.

“Uh huh!” Ben hummed cheerfully. At that, Klaus threw his arms around Ben and pressed a loud kiss to the crown of Ben’s head.

“Go back upstairs and turn on Final Fantasy, I’ll meet you,” Klaus said.

“But I was really hoping that we could pick up where we left off yesterday,” Ben said with a pout.

“What happened yesterday?” Allison asked. She had only been aware of...well, she was aware of Klaus’s visit to the mausoleum, but she had refrained from bringing it up. She knew how dark he became after spending time in there, and it made her feel helpless.

“Ben thinks I’m telekinetic.”

“Are you?”

“He is!” Ben exclaimed.

“I’m not.”

“Explain the lighter from yesterday!” Ben said defiantly. Klaus sighed.

“Okay, so yesterday morning I picked up my lighter,” he said, turning his head toward Allison. “End scene.” Ben shook his head, his eyes wide.

“He reached for his lighter and I saw it fly into his hand!” he said excitedly.

“I’m not telekinetic, Allison.”

“But what if you are telekinetic?” Allison asked. “I mean...anything is possible, right?”

“I’m not telekinetic,” Klaus repeated with mild irritation. “Guys, maybe reign it in a little? If any of us are going to present any more abilities, you’d think they’d have presented themselves by now, yeah?”

“No,” Ben disagreed.

“Not really,” Allison said simultaneously.

“Okay, let’s see if this works: Ben, I don’t want to play telekinesis with you, okay? I’d rather watch you play Final Fantasy,” Klaus said firmly. Ben sighed.

“Fine,” he groaned. He rolled off of Klaus and popped back onto his feet. “I’ll raid the pantry for snacks and meet you upstairs?”

Klaus nodded and shooed Ben away with a wave of his hand.

Once the beach towels were folded and the cheap folding vinyl chaise lounges were tucked back inside of the shed, Klaus attempted an apology; he didn’t want it to appear that he was favoring Ben over Allison, but Allison shook her head. She didn’t need an explanation.

“It’s alright, really! We have two more weeks where we can catch up on our rays,” she said pleasantly. She picked up her white t-shirt and stepped into her wedge flip flops, however, before she could cover up her itty bitty teeny weeny little lavender bikini with the relic from the 90s that she had somehow come into possession of, Klaus spun her up against the shed, caging her between the shed and himself.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Just so that we’re on the same page…”

“Yes?”

“Does Luther…?”

“Luther doesn’t own me,” Allison repeated, her voice low. She arched her brow. “I thought we had established that?”

“So have the flames finally gone out for Luther?” Klaus asked, his tone peculiarly hopeful.

“Klaus?” Allison interjected. “Do you want to involve Luther?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I suggest we leave Luther out of the conversation,” she continued in the same low voice.

It was then that Allison peeled her back away from the shed and with graceful fluidity circled her arms around his neck. Ben had arrived before she could explore this new ability of hers, and she knew she would regret letting this moment go to waste.

And then, when Luther was finally available, she could share what she learned of her new ability with him, she thought.

“Can we do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Leave Luther out of the conversation?”

“We can do whatever you want,” Klaus said quickly.

How serendipitous, that was exactly what Allison needed to hear. So she pushed herself up onto her tippy toes - her wedge flip flops added an inch, but she needed several more to meet Klaus’s height - and drew him in for a kiss.

It was then that Allison came to a fleeting realization: Klaus didn’t make her feel any bit of the cliché “warm and fuzzy”, at least, not in the way that Luther did.

Instead, Klaus was setting her on fire.

Curious, that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember when I posted some garbage last year and said "I don't even ship Klaus and Allison".
> 
> I was also lying, I guess. Sorry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there a reason why I'm still awake?
> 
> \- Young the Giant, Something to Believe In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was not in the original draft, but while I was revising it I felt like it was necessary to include it. The next chapter wouldn't make much sense without it.
> 
> Warning: There's a very brief mention of animal cruelty in this chapter.

**Ben**

It was becoming quite clear, Ben thought as he absentmindedly nibbled away at a hangnail: Allison was going to be a pretty, albeit inescapable, fixture of summer. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out exactly  _ why _ .

When had Allison ever liked Klaus...like  _ that _ ?

It wasn’t because the two of them finally realized that they had a lot in common, Ben thought dismissively. Because if that were the case, then why did Allison still carry a torch for Luther?

She  _ did _ still carry a torch for Luther, didn’t she?

Then again, maybe there were no ulterior motives. Maybe it truly was as simple as these two lost souls, finally realizing just how much they had in common, found each other when they needed each other the most and…

No.

Allison was planning something.

(And Allison better not step one foot into  _ Ben’s _ attic oasis, so help him God…)

“No, something fucky’s going on...” Ben murmured to himself.

“You’re fucking right! So, what’s fucky?”

Ben turned to the source of the voice, and broke into a grin when he realized that Diego was standing beside him.

“Oh, hi!” he chirped. Diego nodded at Ben’s choice in summer fashion.

“Aren’t you hot in that?” he asked.

Ben was, of course, dressed appropriately for August if one considered an oversized black hoodie and black snap-up track pants as appropriate for August. And Ben, of course, wore his sleeves down, so that the frayed cuffs skimmed his fingertips.

Of course.

“I’m fine!” Ben said cheerfully.

“If you say so,” Diego said, his brows furrowed with disbelief. “So, what’s fucky?”

“I think Allison’s mad at Luther.”

“Really?” Diego inquired. “Wow, I...I actually don’t care. Like, at all.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Diego shrugged.

“Anyway, I might be late coming home tonight so if you could let me sneak in through your window, I’d appreciate it,” he added.

“Why? Where are you going?”

Immediately, Diego crammed his fists into the pockets of his baggy basketball shorts as an uncomfortable expression overtook his face.

“So there’s a girl I like, alright?” he said sheepishly, his voice low.

“OH,” Ben interjected, and right away he knew who Diego was talking about. She attended the Baptist church down the street. Very pretty, with braces and a choppy brown bob and a penchant for oversized sweaters. And the  _ only _ thing that rivaled her love for oversized sweaters was her love for her personal Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Which meant Diego had an ice cube’s chance in hell with her.

“Yeah,” Diego continued, in the same sheepish tone. “I kind of promised her that I would help volunteer at the church, something about a garage sale and...anyway. Curfew’s at nine, so...”

“No, I got you,” Ben said amiably. “Just climb up the fire escape and knock on the window.”

“You’re a fucking saint,” Diego exhaled. Ben shook his head; no thanks was needed.

“Just know Dad’s gonna have your ass on a silver platter,” Ben warned, almost sagely. Diego smirked.

“I’ve already thought about that, and I’ve already decided that it’s worth the licking,” he said. He gave Ben a clap on the shoulder. “Now change into something that won’t give you heatstroke.”

“Okay!” Ben agreed cheerfully.

(Like hell he was going to change out of his hoodie.)

Once Ben’s meandering had finally lead him to the pantry, he made quick work of liberating its shelves from anything that contained copious amounts of sugar. That, and those Hot Cheetos, he thought. Hot Cheetos were a rarity inside the Hargreeves household, and if Ben wasn’t quick on the draw it was usually Diego who laid claim to them. And the way Ben saw it, Diego owed him anyway, so this made them even.

After stuffing the Hot Cheetos into his hoodie’s front pocket, Ben returned to scanning the shelves, pausing only to pull down boxes of sugary junk and cradling them protectively in his arms. The Hot Cheetos, the Oreos, the Fruity Pebbles - those were his, because try as he might, he just couldn’t get Klaus to partake in any of the snacks - even when they were three bowls deep!

( _ HOW _ …!!)

He supposed he would have to bring up a tumbler filled with ice cubes, he thought sullenly. It broke his heart to watch Klaus turn his nose up at a perfectly good quadruple stuffed Oreo constructed lovingly by hand, but more than that he despised the sound of Klaus crunching ice when he got the munchies.

And?

He would crunch ice for  _ hours _ .

Ben couldn’t help but shudder. Crunching ice was a pet peeve, but for Klaus he supposed he would keep looking the other way.

Suddenly, there came a wet, heavy thud, followed by an expletive. Several expletives, really.

“Motherfucker! That was a fucking expensive cut of pork!”

Ben slowly turned around to find the source of the expletives. Not far from his feet lay a rather large, rather fresh slab of pork, originally intended for the smoker but now splattered all over the tile. It was a horrific thing, pink and bleeding as shiny white ribs protruded from slimy flesh.

Ben felt his mouth go dry. Briefly, he turned around in an effort to return his focus to the freshly-stocked pantry and its unopened boxes of chocolate Pop Tarts, but he felt his attention drift back, back to the pig carcass lying on the floor. Unable to resist its violent call, he turned fully around, his wide eyes fixed on the remains splattered before him.

Breathe, Ben. Close your eyes and breathe, just like the therapist taught you.

Except. He couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Are you high? Pick that thing up!” the chef de cuisine demanded.

“We can’t use it --” 

“I never said ANYTHING about using it, now pick it up!”

Ben closed his eyes and lifted his hands to his ears, dropping his armful of snacks in the process. Breathe, Ben. Breathe and hold to the count of four, then release and hold to the count of four, you can do it Ben.

But when he closed his eyes, all he saw were piglets.

And suddenly, Ben was seven years old and standing before his father, tearfully begging “please, don’t make me do it, don’t make me do it, not again.”

“These are not pets, Number Six!” Dad would bellow. “Now, are you going to comply or will I have to force you to comply?”

And Ben would squeeze his eyes closed, lift up his knitted jumper, and unleash holy hell on those pink, squirming, innocent piglets, and their shrieks would drown out his hysterics.

“No, don’t make me do it, not again,” Ben hissed inside of the pantry. He closed his fists tighter around his ears. “Not again, notagain notagainnotagain!”

“Hey?” a soft voice called. “Hey, are you alright?”

A gentle hand fell on Ben’s shoulder, owned by the clumsy sous chef who had dropped the side of pork. In other words, the sous chef responsible for Ben’s waking nightmare.

Ben’s eyes snapped open.

“No, I, I, I,” Ben stammered. He frantically looked around the room, first at the snacks scattered at his feet, then at the clumsy sous chef standing in front of him, finally at the decaying slab of pork that lay on the tile. He pressed his palms flat against the sous chef’s chest, pushing him back with enough effort that he sent him falling to the floor.

“What?! HEY!” the sous chef exclaimed, as Ben broke into a manic scramble in an attempt to get as much distance between himself and the kitchen as possible.

All he saw were piglets, all the way down.


End file.
